


Couch It to Me

by ClarySage (ClaryTehSage)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 22:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15981623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaryTehSage/pseuds/ClarySage
Summary: SUMMARY: Jack has his way with wordsWARNINGS: Beware the overuse of the english languageFEEDBACK: Pretty please? I'd love some.AUTHOR NOTES: Done for the Contrelamontre "couch" challenge in 40minutes give or take 2 minutes.





	Couch It to Me

When he woke up, he thought to himself that it should always be that  
easy -no tired senses shuffling their way to the light, instead just  
an instant alertness. He didn't wonder why that was, nor why on this  
particular day it should happen. Alternatively his eyes popped open  
and his thoughts moved on to more interesting topics, such as what  
might be for breakfast, or whether it would rain.

Jack Sparrow never liked to think useless thoughts, which was just as  
well since most days common thought completely eluded him. On this  
morning, as the sun tried in vain to stream through the firmly  
shuttered windows, Jack found thought was seeking him out for a  
change. There was an odd spring in his body, merriment in his twinkle  
of a gaze. Moreover, something - something that nagged at the very  
edge of realization. Jack had a niggling doubt, a pinprick of  
sensation that there was something he should be remembering.

He gazed thoughtlessly about the room, his mind a complete blank as  
it scrolled over a chair with his clothing strewn liberally over it.  
In the corner sat a small table bolted down, a bottle of beautiful  
rum tilted sidewise and empty upon its surface. Jack's eyes continued  
their idle perusal, coming across a single boot, sagging against the  
bed, and a foot.

The foot somewhat bothered Jack, as it sat – or rather lay quite  
innocently in the bed. Who might be attached to the foot was hidden  
by the sheet, and so left merely the foot as evidence. The foot  
twitched, and Jack jumped back and eyed it.

Once more Jack's eyes fluttered about the room, nearly free from his  
skull as they searched, and landed upon the small couch – more like a  
loveseat really, that sat opposite the foot of the bed. What had  
Jack's interest were the clothes that scattered the cushions and  
painted the padded back. For one, they weren't female clothes, which  
didn't really take Jack at all by surprise. If Jack had his way, most  
females he associated with would wear nothing at all, but as it was  
most merely dressed as men.

This of course left the foot, which happened to be a right foot, on  
the right of the bed, though, if Jack were to sit on whoever it was  
and face the foot of the bed, it would then be the left side, though –  
still the right foot. After that little segue of thought, Jack  
decided thinking was for the damned, and damned if he'd think that  
way. In conclusion, he cautiously approached the foot and examined  
it.

It was a nice foot. Just the sort you'd want to bring home to your  
mother. The toenails were healthy in appearance, and the foot seemed  
to have a nice graceful strength to it. Jack concluded he'd either  
slept with a large woman the night before, or…  
The foot twitched rather suddenly and a groan from beneath one of the  
pillows answered Jack's anxious thoughts. Indeed, he recognized that  
voice, despite the fact that the groan had been wordless.

Again, as if to answer Jack, the voice spoke - "Where am I?" it said.

Jack was unsure how to couch it in terms he thought the occupant of  
his bed might like to hear. Things such as; "You're in heaven." Or  
perhaps, "Miss Swann's bed."

Then the figure rolled lazily upwards, discarding the pillow in favor  
of staring at Jack incredulously. "Jack?"

Jack in turn stared firmly at the couch opposite the foot of the bed.  
He gazed accusingly at the discarded clothes upon it, and vaguely  
recalled the evening before. It had involved a lot of rum and a  
complete lack of thought. Jack decided thought was for the birds. He  
turned to face the naked and morning-blurred form of Will Turner  
sitting up in his bed. "Rest assured, it was good for you." And  
really, what more could he say.


End file.
